


And Outcasts Always Mourn

by dornfelder



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, episode 4.06, episode coda, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: Silver's grip on his wrist isn't that strong, it would be easy to break. He'd only have to pull back his hand, turn around and leave the cabin - leave Silver to his fate to pass out in grief and exhaustion. It's not the physical hold Silver has on him that keeps him rooted to the spot, keeps him from shaking off the touch."Please," Silver says, "I don't – I don't want to be alone."





	

The island is overflowing with people, and there's no room for another captain and his crew in the camp. Flint and his men retreat to the Walrus after dusk has fallen.

When Flint enters the cabin, later that night, Silver is already sitting there. "Sitting" might be somewhat of an euphemism, he's slumped in his chair, barely upright. The bottle of rum lies smashed on the floor. The mug, thrown into a corner, rolls around as the Walrus sways. Silver's crutch lies wedged between the chair and the table. 

With his boot, Flint pushes away the biggest shards to clear a path to the table. Up close, the smell of liquor is so strong that Flint would be loathe to lit a spark: they might go up in flames - an ending, only befitting a day like this. 

Flint touches Silver's shoulder. Silver barely reacts; he's almost passed out. If he leaves Silver sitting here, Silver will fall, cut himself on the shards, hurt his stump. 

Flint sighs, takes a deep breath, preparing for hell to be unleashed on him, then steps up to Silver and puts an arm around him to pull him out of the chair. Silver's only reaction is an incomprehensible groan, but when Flint lifts him up, he seems to regain consciousness and starts struggling. 

"Wha … what are you doing?" The words are slurred, barely recognizable as human speech.

"Putting you to bed," Flint says. He holds on tighter and half drags, half carries Silver toward the bed that hangs suspended in the corner. 

Silver's resistance is weak, born from confusion rather than anger. With some effort and a bit of undignified manuvering, Flint gets Silver up into the bed, pulls off his coat and his one boot and spreads a blanket over him. 

As he turns around to leave, Silver suddenly opens his eyes. His eyes are bloodshott and glassy, but they fix on Flint's face in recognition. 

"Go to sleep," Flints says. 

"Can't," Silver says, sounding almost lucid. "Can't … can't stop seeing her face."

There's nothing Flint could say to make this any better, he has no comfort to offer. 

"How do you do it?" Silver says. "How do you … move on?"

"Don't," Flint says with a shake of his head. "This isn't a question I can answer for you. Especially not now. Not tonight." He turns to go, but Silver's voice stops him. 

"I've never -"

He stills, looks back over his shoulder. "Never what?"

"Never loved anyone before. Like that. I've never -"

" _Christ._ Stop. _Stop it._ This way lies madness –" Flint shakes his head, stunned by the violent emotion running through him. He can't listen to this. "You need to _go to sleep_." 

"I told you, I can't." Silver swallows convulsively. "Maybe if – if you –" 

"What now? Jesus." 

With a surprisingly accurate aim, Silver reaches for him. His fingers close around Flint's wrist. " _Please_."

Flint freezes. 

Silver's grip on his wrist isn't that strong, it would be easy to break. He'd only have to pull back his hand, turn around and leave the cabin - leave Silver to his fate to pass out in grief and exhaustion. It's not the physical hold Silver has on him that keeps him rooted to the spot, keeps him from shaking off the touch. 

"Please," Silver says, "I don't – I don't want to be alone."

It hits too close to home. Flint has been alone for so long, it's almost like he can't imagine a different state of being. There wasn't anyone he could turn to after Miranda's death. And even before – even when Gates had been alive, his right hand, a man he could trust, a man he could rely on – there had been no one to provide the kind of comfort Silver is asking for. Miranda and him had been drifting apart for years, the closeness between them – the shared understanding – almost lost. Every price he took was a wedge between them, the blood on his hands tainting her too, so he stopped touching her. And now, with Miranda dead, and Thomas, and everyone else he has ever been close to, Flint has nothing left to give. Not even to Silver.

 _Especially_ not to Silver, who … has offered him understanding, friendship, an unexpected amount of loyalty. Silver, who he has come to regard as a friend, against all odds, to a point where he's been capable of reaching out earlier, against every instinct, expecting a violent rejection. He's been capable of laying a hand on his shoulder. A touch that was a plea for forgiveness as much as an offer of consolation. 

And now Silver keeps looking at him, the hurt and grief plain on his face, and Flint finds himself incapable of refusing him.

He takes a deep breath. "All right, then." 

His eyes fall on the chair, and he tries to free his wrist from Silver's grasp to reach for it and pull it close to the bed, but Siver's fingers tighten around his wrist. 

Flint turns his head and stares at him. 

Silver tugs at his wrist, gently, a demand that is impossible to misunderstand. 

For a second, Flint wants to bolt.

Then something in him gives, and he nods. He swallows, hard.

Silver lets go of him, but keeps watching him. He doesn't say anything as Flint walks over to the door to bar it, guard what little privacy they have left. 

Flint returns to the bed and shrugs out of his coats, hangs it over the back of the chair, then pulls off his boots. Silver appears to be asleep as Flint comes to stand beside the bed, but then his eyes open. Flint stares at him, and despite his agreement just moments ago, he finds himself incapable of taking the final step. 

Moments pass by, and Flint gathers his courage. "Move over," he finally says, and to his credit, Silver tries, but between the rum and he swaying bed, he only manages to move a few inches.

With a sigh, Flint climbs onto the bed and starts pushing, shoving Silver out of the way, re-arranging him so that he's on his back and Flint can lie down beside him. He pulls the blanket over them. He's not surprised when Silver immediately turns toward him, seeking contact, until Flint puts an arm around him and they're lying in a close embrace. 

How long has it been that he's been this close to another person? How long since he's felt another person breathing, the raise and fall of their chest against his? 

"I don't know how you bear it," Silver whispers in the dark. "I don''t know why you haven't put a pistol to your head." 

"Purpose," Flint says. "You find it, you cling to it. You don't let go of it; no matter what happens."

"Is it enough? This … purpose … what we're doing, you and I, the attempt of accompishing something – or maybe just the _pretense_ of trying to accompish something – is it enough?"

"It has to be," Flint says. "There is nothing else."

"I don't know if I can live like that." Silver's voice is barely audible. "I don't know if I have it in me."

There's nothing Flint can say. Silver's not a child, and Flint's not going to treat him like one by offering reassurance, empty words of consolation. Silver's not Eleanor, who, even in her death, wanted comfort, not truth. 

"You lost someone too," Silver says, as if he's reading Flint's mind. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I didn't like her, but … I know _you_ did."

"She reminded me of Thomas," he hears himself say. "They were nothing alike, but … she had some of the traits I admired in him. Her boldness. Her insistence. He frankness."

"You still miss him," Silver says, stating a fact. "All these years, and you still miss him."

There's nothing to say that Silver doesn't already know, so Flint doesn't say anything. 

"This pain. It will never go away, will it?" Silver's voice comes from far away, he's almost asleep.

Flint puts his hand on his shoulder, feels the warmth of Silver's body under his palm. "Sleep," he says. "Rest."

"Don't leave me," Silver whispers. He clings to Flint in the dark until exhaustion finally takes its toll and his breath evens out in sleep.

Flint finds himself holding on to him, incapable of doing anything else.


End file.
